***
In the middle of the night, someone knocked quietly on the door.
I opened my eyes instantly—caution has always been a primary directive in my missions. The feeling of sleep receded, as it should. I went to the wardrobe and took a cape from it, in case a stranger was at the door. And wrapping myself tightly in it, over my white nightshirt, I slowly approached and opened the door.
"It's open," I said in a voice quiet enough for this time of night.
The door opened smoothly, and in the gap appeared Catherine. Her hair was disheveled, she wore no robe—only a thin fabric over her nightgown. She stood barefoot, without protection, even ritualistic.
"You are late," I replied, feigning slight displeasure.
"Uh-huh, I am sorry, please, Arta." She closed the door behind her and for some time just stood at the threshold, observing my appearance in the light of the white moon Lagur.
"Do you mind if I sit on the windowsill?" she asked uncertainly, afraid that I might forbid her something.
"Of course not, this is your home," I answered calmly.
Catherine smiled with the corners of her lips and, going to the window, sat on the windowsill, hugging her knees tightly with both hands. Then she looked first at the moon, and then at me, and quietly, almost reluctantly, began.
"This house… everything in it…" she ran her palm along the windowsill. "Everything reminds me of what I was. Here I was afraid, I grew up… I got used to these walls not because they protected me, but because I did not understand what real freedom and real protection were…" She froze, as if she had said too much.
I moved a little closer, maintaining a respectful distance, but did not answer her question. There was no need; it was just a fixation of the pain she had lived through.
"But you know, Arta, now,"—her voice became quieter—"I do not feel like a cripple. My whole previous life has become like a bad dream that has no relation to the present me. And all this is thanks to you. Thank you for being here."
I intuitively wanted to take a half-step back, but I suppressed this feeling. For some time, I just watched her silently. Her words had weight, but the true source of her changes was not in me.
"Catherine, you should not underestimate your past life. It is the past that makes us who we are now. But the most important thing is different. Thanks to your will and inner core, you have become who you always wanted to be," I answered calmly and added, "The prosthesis is just a means. The entire vector of change came from the version of you that overcame all these trials."
Catherine turned her head. Her eyes shone, not from tears—from insomnia and a desire to be heard.
"Perhaps you are right… But when you are near… it is easier for me." She smirked. "Strange, isn't it? Maybe I'm just too used to it?…"
I moved to the opposite wall and, slightly throwing the woolen cape from my shoulders, leaned against it. This was necessary so that she would understand that the distance between us should be at an acceptable level, despite all my internal vulnerability toward her.
Catherine shook her head, tracking my route, and, with a slight smirk, said, "Arta, why are you moving away? Don't you understand that if you had just given me the prosthesis and remained at a distance…" She paused briefly, then continued, "That would have been one thing. But you… you didn't just give it. You created it, and you didn't disappear after. You are even here now, even if you try to keep your distance, in a house where it seems even the walls themselves are not happy to see me…" She took a painful breath. "Except for Heinrich." She fell silent, her gaze fixed on the window.
I remained to the side, just watching her through the twilight of the room.
"Listen," I said. "You are overestimating me. I am just your roommate."
"No, Arta," she said, still looking at the glass.
"You are my best friend. You are my savior, and you need not deny this fact. Or do you think I have forgotten the story in that tavern?" She snorted almost furiously. "You make me free, you do not let others control me. And most importantly, you are here, just here… Is that not valuable?"
I deliberately crossed my arms over my chest and allowed myself a short exhale to seem more convincing.
"Sometimes I also think… what have I gotten myself into." My voice remained even; only a dry irony was audible in the intonation. "Listen, Catherine. I do not like all these interpersonal conversations. I am a loner. I always have been. And I doubt that will change." This was a permissible truth for her. My true essence had always been solitary, and for some reason, I wanted to tell her, of all people, about it.
Catherine turned to me completely and began to speak without pressure, but with a tone meant to reach me.
"You are already changing, Arta. Even if you do not notice."
"No. It only seems that way to you," I retorted sharply, although this was just a defense. This terrible virus, caused by her presence, had indeed appeared in my essence.
"You want to say you feel nothing?" she asked, almost sadly.
"No. I am just stable. This is all of me," I replied, continuing to insist on my line.
Catherine fell silent, but only for a couple of seconds, and then added, barely audibly, "So, nothing… I see." She exhaled—not heavily, but simply as a person who understood: one could not ask anymore.
I just looked at her silently, not commenting on her outburst.
"You are as usual." She stood up, slowly, without any sharp movements. "Alright. I will go to sleep. Your indifference is starting to have an effect on me like chamomile tea." Her tone was even, without the slightest offense, but with a light prick, like the touch of fingers.
"Sweet dreams," I said, watching her leave. She nodded, her gaze lingering for a moment on my hands, and then she left, carefully closing the door behind her.
I went to the window where she had just been sitting and remained standing, looking into the distance. The snow outside the glass fell softly, evenly, without a sound. In this snowy silence, there was no peace; there was only a structure, whose form could not just disappear.
***
I woke before dawn. The room was dark, but the temperature was stable. Many furnaces were working to maintain the heat in this cold season.
Rising from the bed, I changed into a traveling tunic: dark, severe, without any symbolism. I gathered my hair into a tight knot at the base of my neck—not decorative, but functional. Three coils, fixed with pins and a clasp. Not a single superfluous line. Not a single movement that would interfere with the given form. In this house, form was more important than words.
The first floor was quiet. The large hall with the fireplace was not empty. Heinrich sat in an armchair by the fire. He was not asleep. He was waiting.
I entered silently and stopped at the opposite wall, maintaining a distance. This was not a meeting—it was a point of intersection of coordinates. For some time, we both remained silent, while the logs crackled in the fireplace.
Heinrich began the conversation first, "Good morning, Artalis."
"Good morning, Heinrich. You can call me just Arta," I answered calmly.
"If it is more convenient for you, I do not mind. Please, have a seat," he gestured with his hand to a free armchair.
"Thank you, but I would prefer to stand. I have slept all night," I replied, allowing myself a smile to be polite.
"I understand, sometimes such things make sense. Well, alright." His gaze lingered on me, and then he shifted it to the window. "You know, Arta… In the hospital, prostheses like hers are not even registered as a theory."
His implication was clear, but in the world of Illumora, other magical prostheses existed. Yes, they were significantly worse than what I had created, but they solved the problem for which they were needed. Therefore, even he could not be one hundred percent sure that he was not mistaken.
"In the Tarvarian Empire, different approaches are used in the development of prostheses," I answered calmly. "The weaving of magical energies through primary tissue. It was created according to these principles."
The pause that arose between us was long. Heinrich did not turn but tilted his head. He was clearly thinking about something, until exactly a minute later he continued, "I have not seen such expensive things given just like that."
I did not answer immediately, shifting my gaze to the stones, where the fire did not change its rhythm. "Situations can be different," I said. "As I have already said, my family had the resources, I had the desire. In my opinion, Catherine is a person who deserves support."
He looked at me, attentively, without hostility. Like a person who knows all too well the problems of people who have lost limbs as a result of magical accidents.
"Is she important to your family?" his question was clear and at the same time simple. It required a simple answer, a simple understanding of what was happening.
I did not answer immediately, admitting an internal reluctance to continue lying, but the situation required certain sacrifices and lies.
"Catherine will serve the crown of Valtheim. Evelina." I deliberately paused, giving Heinrich time to think over my every sentence. "Her position already now attracts many glances at the academy as a talented student, so the actions of our family are logical and consistent. We see in Catherine an opportunity to build a personal bridge with the future queen of your country."
Heinrich looked at me thoughtfully; deep concern was readable in his eyes, but he did not object or interrupt. He just waited for the moment when I myself would decide to add new layers to this story.
"It is important not to forget that not everything I say is politics. Catherine is my only friend, and I could not let her face this situation without support." I deliberately paused before continuing. "I saw the state she was in; I knew she would not ask for help. All I had to do was ask my parents for help. And I did it."
Heinrich once again fell into thought, and then just remained silent for a long time, looking at the burning logs in the fireplace.
"And you… do not expect anything in return?" he finally said in a muffled voice.
I looked out the window, where it was still snowing, after which I answered without shifting my gaze, "We all expect something, but not always something of equal value," I answered calmly, hoping to close this question.
Heinrich lowered his gaze, as if for a moment he had lost focus. Then he raised his head again. Now he was looking directly at me.
"Listen, Arta, it is important to me that my sister is alright." He looked at me with reproach, as if trying to read my true plans.
"I have no intention of harming Catherine," I replied, not smiling.
Heinrich nodded sharply, looked at the fireplace, and then shifted his gaze back to me and, softening his speech slightly, said, "If she ever suffers because of your game—I will not be silent."
"She should not suffer," I answered calmly. "Under no circumstances."
Heinrich said no more. He stood up and was about to leave, but Catherine entered the hall, and she was barefoot again. She wore a gray robe that flowed freely over her body, as it was unbelted. Her hair was not gathered into its usual ponytail but was completely loose and fell over her shoulders. She looked calm, like a person who was still half asleep but had already sensed the changes in the air.
"So early, and you are already here?…" she smiled slightly to the side. "I thought I could sit by the fire alone."
Heinrich glanced at her feet and shook his head, "Walking barefoot on a cold floor—you could get sick."
Catherine smirked but did not stop. "Thank you, older brother. You are as timely as ever," she said ironically.
She sat on the armrest of an armchair by the wall, from where the fire in the fireplace was not visible, but we were clearly visible. Heinrich looked at Catherine for some time, then sat back down in the armchair, understanding that the scene was not yet over.
"I suppose, since the three of us are here, we can talk on topics concerning you both." He shifted his gaze from his sister to me and asked politely, without pressure, "How did you meet?"
I did not answer immediately, but I did not have to: Catherine intercepted the question before I could utter the first sound.
"We are roommates. From the very first day. At first, our communication was not so intense, but now everything has fallen into an understandable structure, and this only strengthens our mutual trust."
Heinrich listened attentively, not interrupting. Then he nodded and asked, "And when did you get the prosthesis?"
"Almost immediately after enrolling. The first Veytra. I did not tell, I was afraid that mom and dad would think something extra. And then it all just became part of my usual life."
He was not surprised, only noted the fact of his own observation, "And you consider each other close friends?"
Catherine smirked slightly, "I am not sure that we count anything at all. But if you want a name—yes. Arta is my best friend."
"In what is this expressed?"
"In the fact that she does not demand words, I trust her, and with her, everything is stable."
He shifted his gaze to me, after which he clarified, "Do you think so too?"
I shook my head slightly before answering. "As I have already said, Catherine is my best friend."
Heinrich lowered his gaze, relaxed his shoulders slightly, but this did not last long.
"Are you still calculating, Heinrich?" Catherine asked with a faint smile.
Heinrich did not object, only raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Not anymore," he said calmly. "Sometimes it is enough to just see how someone holds themselves to draw sufficient conclusions."
Catherine nodded, not quite understanding what he meant. For her, it was just a clever metaphor; for me, a reason to think about a person who does not ask questions but continues to calculate something. For some time, we were silent and just looked at each other, until Catherine stood up, breaking the silence.
"Maybe we should go have breakfast? I'm getting hungry from such conversations," she said, placing a hand on her stomach.
Heinrich raised an eyebrow, "If you put on shoes, consider that I am going."
Catherine snorted but headed for the exit. "Alright, alright. Older brothers are the worst form of control."
He allowed himself to smile, watching her leave.
I just remained silent, and the logs in the fireplace were gradually burning out, still crackling with embers.
***
The table was set in a spacious hall by the eastern wall so that the morning sun illuminated the porcelain but did not touch the faces. The tablecloth—of silvery-gray shades, with the embroidered Holu coat of arms: a griffin with closed wings holding a key in one paw, a lowered sword in the other. The crown above its head was without stones. On its chest—a shield, symmetrical, with a thin central line. A seam, disguised as an ornament. Like everything in this house—a crack, hidden by order.
The servants moved silently through the hall, serving dishes, tea, and straightening the cutlery with the precision of a daily ritual. I sat at the far end of the table, not in the center, but not on the edge either. Where a guest is supposed to sit. Without any claim to status, but not in the shadows either.
Catherine and Heinrich were conversing. She was telling about the teachers, and he, in response, was initiating her into unusual cases from the hospital. Their speech was soft, without artificial politeness, like a small island in the midst of a perfectly constructed coldness. I just remained silent, listened, and recorded, sometimes touching the food with absolutely no enthusiasm.
Soon Catherine's parents joined us. Edward sat in a chair at the end of the table. He did not speak, just remained silent, rarely casting a displeased glance at the servants who did not timely bring him his usual ration. Celeste sat opposite her husband. She wore a morning dress with a thin collar, without a single wrinkle. Her face was half-lit, and she increasingly cast glances at me, moving slowly, as if preparing for an attack.
The first attack sounded lightly, "Artalis, and where did you study before the academy?"
"At the 'Chrysolite' school of magic," I replied. "It is a strict educational institution for children with talents for magic."
"Your parents have an interesting choice of place of study for their daughter," she commented. "I suppose there were more suitable places for girls in Tarvar."
I allowed myself a slight smile. "In the empire, talents are valued. Sometimes, to reveal them, one has to sacrifice something, for example, childhood. But I assure you, these are trifles. The 'Chrysolite' school is not as terrible as it sounds; I learned a lot there."
Celeste looked at me skeptically. "I suppose your parents adhere to strict views, and that is worthy." She paused and slid her gaze to Catherine, and only then returned to me, "So what number child are you in the family?"
"The sixth," I said. "I am the youngest."
"Ah," she noted lightly. "Sixth children… They are usually allowed more liberties, are they not?"
"Yes," I said. "Unlike the older ones, I was to study outside the Tarvarian Empire."
"And what do your parents do? Trade? Politics?" she asked with a faint smile that appeared on her thin lips.
"My father is a general of the 'Ice Guard,' one of the Elite units of the Imperial Forces. My mother officially holds no positions but comes from the house of Grenveld."
She froze, hearing the familiar name, and slowly ran a finger along the rim of her cup, "Grenveld… If I remember correctly, this house owns most of the mines in the northern mountains of Tarvar? Rare stones. Even here, in Valtheim, they are valued."
I did not allow myself a single extra gesture. "The Grenvelds do indeed control a significant portion of the resources," I answered calmly. "But I am a Nox, not a Grenveld. And I can say for sure that in our family, wealth does not exempt one from obligations. Everyone goes through their own stage, their own path."
She nodded, as if agreeing, though it was clear to me that agreement was not the goal. Celeste placed the cup on the saucer, and then addressed me again, "Ah yes…" she drew out the word, as if remembering something insignificant. "I have been to Troysk. A cold city. Everything there seems to be carved from stone. And those snow-covered mountains… they are too oppressive."
I smiled politely. "Tarvar is a harsh land. But its harshness only gives people endurance, which is why Tarvar is considered one of the greatest empires in all of Illumora."
She shifted her gaze back to the cup and looked thoughtfully at its patterns. She had not achieved what she wanted to hear, and this bothered her slightly. Her silence lasted exactly as long as she needed to restore her position, after which a new question was not long in coming, "It is still strange," she said almost dreamily, "that you chose the Academy of Valtheim and did not stay in the Empire. I know that there are many excellent institutions for training students of completely different levels there."
"As I said, unlike the older children, I had the opportunity to choose," I said. "Studying abroad is my personal choice. Not a necessity."
At that moment, even Heinrich looked up at me. Not with suspicion. With a noted fact: "She is holding the line."
Catherine sat silently, touching her cup. Her back was straight, her movements—cautious. She knew this was a battle, even if the blades were invisible.
Celeste placed the teapot on the tray and said lightly, as if about the weather, "Well, well. I think we all must find our roles. In time, of course. Edward, as I recall, you had a question about Stavin."
At that moment, Edward seemed to emerge from the state of indifference that had enveloped him all breakfast. His tone was rough and demanded an immediate answer, "Artalis. You came through Stavin, did you not? Or did you sail to Valtheim by sea?"
I looked at him, trying to be as polite as possible. "Crossing the land border is always easier than the sea. So yes, I arrived through Stavin."
Edward narrowed his eyes slightly and asked a second question, "And how did you like Stavin? Did you like it? I have been trading with Tarvar for more than thirty years. And I will say that I am proud of how this city has changed over that time."
I smiled slightly to look natural. "The southern cities of my empire are beautiful in their own way, but Stavin is not just a city; it is a logistics center from which access to Valtheim and Arzanir opens up. And if you participated in the development of this city, I can only thank you."
Edward smiled and said no more. It seems that even people like him need a small, meaningless acknowledgment. Catherine's mother still looked at me mysteriously, trying to understand who I was, but she did not dare to ask additional questions.
The rest of breakfast passed calmly, and only the conversations of Catherine and Heinrich diluted the cold atmosphere.